A Rider's Torment
by DJ Sparkles
Summary: AU. What if Theodred had survived the Fords of Isen, only to be captured by Saruman? Will contain violence, sometimes graphic, and lots and lots of angst. Rated M for safety's sake. Posted 7 28 2005. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to JRR Tolkien. I am merely borrowing his toys for a while, and promise to put them back when I'm finished.

Dedications: To Evendim, who gave me my start in this fandom and has graciously supplied me with permission to play in her playground any time I like. Thanks, sweetie… it means a great deal to me. To Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and the occasional kick in the pants I need to keep writing. And last, but not least, to AJ, who is helping me write this one which started so innocently with a game of "What if…"

Author's Note: This story is set in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE of my own creation. That means that some facts, faces, and features found in canon might not exactly fit. All constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms; flames will be read, laughed over, and then tossed out the window for Dogzilla to eat.

Author's Note #2: This was just supposed to be an innocent little way to pass the time… AJ and I were playing "What if" games and came up with the idea that perhaps Théodred hadn't been killed at the Fords of Isen. It quickly spiraled from there, grabbed a couple more innocent-looking little bunnies, and guess what? We're off and running on another story! I beg your indulgence; all works in progress are intended to be updated and completed as time allows. This is mostly movie-verse, though there will be a few elements of book-verse involved later. Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

Saruman looked down at the bloody gift that had been sent to him in the night by his trusted vassal in Rohan. The note that came with it stated merely that it was a royal toy for his amusement. He pulled wrapping off the gift and smiled grimly, touching the young man's shoulder lightly. "Well it looks as if you will be staying a while, Prince Théodred. I hope to make your visit especially pleasant." The smile on his face became more vulturine as he placed a hand over one of the boy's wounds. "But first, let us make you more comfortable, that you might enjoy your stay with us." He motioned one of the Orc healers. "Make certain that he lives and will be available to discuss his future soon."

Théodred woke, disoriented and wracked with pain. The silk of the sheets confused him further; there were no such things in his éored. They lived rough and hard, protecting Rohan from the forces of Sauron's darkness.

Isen, he had been at the Fords of Isen, near Isengard. The Orcs that had ambushed them, they weren't Mordor Orcs. They bore the White Hand of Saruman.

The White Wizard had turned on them. It was a grievous blow, but not unexpected. Did Saruman's little toady still reside at Meduseld, keeping Théodred's father in their thrall? Oh, yes, it was all clear to him now.

He shifted and stifled a hiss of pain, though it was far less than it should have been. How long had he been here? Where was he? And what was happening in his home? He would have been reported lost, had any of his men survived. He had gone down hard, wounded with what he was certain should have been a mortal blow. So how was he still breathing?

He saw Orcs enter the room and dove off the bed, no longer concerned with the pain. He was a Rohirrim, a warrior born, a son of kings, and they would not take him without suffering severe losses of their own. He grabbed up the poker from the fireplace, intending to use it as a weapon. "Come on then!" he snarled as they came closer.

The lead Orc grunted and motioned for the servant behind him to bring a tray of food and drink. "If you are so hungry for battle, whelp, perhaps you should wait for your wounds to heal. Then you and I shall dance." His cruel little piggy eyes promised a world of pain for the Marshall.

A small dark haired woman came forward with the tray and cringed as she neared Théodred, but she continued to the table. She paused as she set her burden down and then waited for the next order.

"I will leave this servant with you so that you might appease all your hungers," the Orc laughed as he motioned the other Orcs out and closed and locked the door behind him.

Théodred felt himself slumping forward. He caught himself on the post of the bed, the poker clattering to the floor as he did so, and regarded the woman with veiled eyes. "Where is this place?" he demanded, though he made a conscious effort to keep his voice civil. His voice was ragged from the effort it had cost him to stay upright.

He found a pair of leather breeches and donned them quickly, feeling much bolder once he was decently covered. "I'll not harm you, girl," he said firmly as he tried the door. Locked, and tightly. This was enemy territory! He had to get free! "Help me," he murmured as he held her eyes. "I must return to Edoras, and quickly!"

She shook her head as she ducked to hide her eyes behind a thatch of dark hair. "You should eat to regain your strength, lord. There is no escape from Isengard." She watched him with her hidden eyes and felt like weeping as she realized who had become the latest victim of Saruman's lust for power.

Théodred cursed, long and viciously. "I'll not touch food from Orcs, no matter that it looks safe." Isengard. He had been right, then, and Saruman had betrayed them. Mordor was gathering all strength; Rohan would need him, his father would need him! He must find some way of escaping! "Deliver that message to your master, and tell him also that I'll not aid whatever mad scheme he has in mind. Rohan will never fall to him! Not so long as there is breath left in me!"

Brave words, from a man who could barely stand, but a meaningless threat. He was as weak as a kitten from blood loss and he knew it. But as a warrior of Rohan, a Rohirrim, one of the Riders, he could not and _would_ not bend to the darkness.

She shook her head, "My lord, you must eat. I swear that neither the Orcs nor Saruman had a hand in the making of your meal. The Orcs prefer rarer meats and Saruman doesn't know his way to the kitchens." She bowed her head suddenly realizing that if Saruman was listening that she was surely in for more torment from him and his creatures.

Théodred shook his heavy mane of dark hair out of his eyes and regarded her again, his dark eyes searching for signs of deception in her face and finding none. She looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't place the resemblance. "I'll not touch it. Saruman has betrayed my people to darkness and to ruin, and I'll not help him in any way. And I will find a way to escape." He prowled the room, seeking some unseen exit.

She sighed and shook her head. "My lord Théodred, if you do not eat, you will not regain your strength, and then what will happen to your beloved Rohan? If you are not strong enough to walk when you do find a way then how will you leave? I swear by horses of Rohan that I have placed nothing in your food or drink." She shivered in fear knowing that even if Saruman was not listening, his Orcs outside the door were. She had spoken in Rohirrim but there was no guarantee that one of the Orcs had not been forced to learn the tongue of the horse lords for just such a purpose.

Théodred held her eyes for a moment more, and then nodded in agreement. Mutely he took a sip of the wine, noting its rich, full flavor and wondering where Saruman was getting such goods. This was no local vintage.

It still wasn't to his taste; like most Riders, he preferred the heady ale of his people. He made do and sat down to the meal, noting idly as he did so that Saruman had won this round. But the girl was right. He couldn't escape without first building his strength, and her oath had been heartfelt. No one of Rohan would make such an oath if it had no meaning. Again he was struck by a fleeting sense of familiarity. She reminded him most forcefully of someone but he couldn't place who it was.

He made to rise from the table, only to drop back in the chair with a soft exclamation of surprise. He just couldn't seem to focus his thoughts, and his limbs would not respond to his commands for movement. "What have you done to me?" he murmured as he passed a shaking hand before his brow.

She looked at him in surprise, "I did nothing to you." She moved forward to take a closer look into his eyes and then moaned softly. "Forgive me, my lord Théodred, if I had known that my cooking would do this to you, I would have found a way to bring you the makings of a meal that you could ensure would not cause you this weakness. Please let me assist you to your bed." She helped him to put an arm on her shoulder and then walked with him unsteadily to his bed. She grunted as she settled him among the hides on the bed. "

He managed to snake an arm out and catch her wrist. "It was not the food," he murmured. "The wine. It must have been the wine. I do not normally drink wine; it would have hidden the taste of the drug." He knew he was rambling, but laid it firmly on the drug he had been given. He did not feel quite rational.

"I will return shortly with water for you." She detached herself firmly and went to the door with the dishes, knocking for the Orcs to open the door and let her out. And while she waited, she paused to study him for a moment. He should not be here, she mused sadly.

Théodred fought the drug with all his will, but it simply wasn't enough. He felt the darkness reach up and fold him into its embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to JRR Tolkien. I am merely borrowing his toys for a while, and promise to put them back when I'm finished.**

**Dedications: To Evendim, who gave me my start in this fandom and has graciously supplied me with permission to play in her playground any time I like. Thanks, sweetie… it means a great deal to me. To Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and the occasional kick in the pants I need to keep writing. And last, but not least, to AJ, who is helping me write this one which started so innocently with a game of "What if…" **

**Author's Note: This story is set in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE of my own creation. That means that some facts, faces, and features found in canon might not exactly fit. All constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms; flames will be read, laughed over, and then tossed out the window for Dogzilla to eat.**

**Author's Note #2: This was just supposed to be an innocent little way to pass the time… AJ and I were playing "What if" games and came up with the idea that perhaps Théodred hadn't been killed at the Fords of Isen. It quickly spiraled from there, grabbed a couple more innocent-looking little bunnies, and guess what? We're off and running on another story! I beg your indulgence; all works in progress are intended to be updated and completed as time allows. This is mostly movie-verse, though there will be a few elements of book-verse involved later. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two**

Théodred woke some time later; he couldn't say how long. There were, of course, no windows for him to check the position of the sun. And his first thought was that he was not alone.

"So you have rejoined the land of the living, my lord. Then it is a good thing that I sent you to Saruman for tending. The wound you received was a mortal one; at least that was what everyone believed." Gríma shifted in his seat by the fire to look more closely at Théodred. "You don't look nearly as dead as the last time I saw you."

"It should have been a mortal wound," Théodred snapped back as he struggled to rise. He fell back, exhausted by the simple act of movement. "I see you have finally slithered your way back where you belong, Gríma. Did you tire of tormenting my father finally, or did your master call you home?" He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

He had long known the Worm was in Saruman's service; it was one reason he had gone to the Fords, to avoid spitting the creature on his own blade and being called to account for it. The changes in his father had come only after Wormtongue had begun plying his version of leechcraft; why could not the others see that? He vowed to himself not to trust the man, no matter what was said.

Gríma picked up a glass of mead and brought it to Théodred. "I'm sure you would prefer mead over the wine that you have been drinking. As for your father, he dismissed me from his service. I returned here because I knew you were here and thought to perhaps offer my services to you."

"Then Father has seen your true colors," Théodred snarled back. "I'll take nothing from your hands, you snake. I've seen what your _leechcraft_ is good for. You would have had my father crawling on all fours like a beast! Get from my sight, worm, and go to your true master! Go to Saruman!"

Théodred knew his words were useless; he hadn't the strength to back them up. Whatever it was they had put in the wine, it held him nearly immobile from weakness. His strength of arms was gone; but his strength of will remained. Never would he bow to these creatures of darkness, these traitors to all that lived.

Gríma paused before continuing to Théodred's bedside. "You will drink this, my lord, even if I must force it into you. As for my leechcraft, I did what I thought was best for Rohan. Neither you nor your father can know why I did what I did." He sighed as he placed the mug against Théodred's lips. "I promise you that there is nothing in this but the sweet mead you favor. This cup was prepared by me, and I give you my word as one of _your_ Riders there is nothing in it to harm you."

"Ale would be the most welcome thing at the moment," Théodred remarked sullenly as he turned his head away. He had not the strength to fight off the Worm, and he knew it. The realization was galling to him, even though the man had once been one of his riders! Somehow he found the strength to knock the cup from Gríma's hands. "I meant what I said, Worm. I'll not drink anything from your hand, nor eat food from your table. And what is best for Rohan? Surely you cannot believe that turning the King himself into a dotard would be _best_ for _Rohan!"_ Théodred struggled harder to sit up, finally coming to rest against the rather ornate headboard. He counted it a victory that he had been able to move at all. "Best for Saruman, perhaps, best for you, but not for _Rohan!"_

Gríma sighed and picked up the spilled mug, and then took some pillows and helped to adjust Théodred so that he could rest more comfortably. "Rohan is not just a king on a throne. Rohan is its people and horses. I thought if Saruman was convinced that Rohan was easily taken that he wouldn't attack with his full forces; hoping that he would decide not to attack at all." He sighed knowing that his thinking would not be understood by the son any more then it had been by the father.

"And so you did Saruman's bidding and rendered my father an old man before his time," Théodred scoffed. However, he settled back against the pillows with a thinly disguised sigh of relief. "Gríma, if you were truly a man of Rohan, you would have brought your fears to my father and aired them, not used guile and deceit to work your will in secret from those you should trust above all others." He felt that he had failed somehow. Gríma, if he _was_ working for the good of Rohan (and that was still very much in doubt in Théodred's mind) should have trusted at least his Marshall with his suspicions. Théodred would then have taken said suspicions to his father and they _would_ have been acted upon. Where had he failed in Gríma's training that Gríma believed he must work alone?

Gríma shook his head, "I had already been talking with Saruman. He had promised me something that even you could not give my lord. And even to that end I lost what he promised me." He took up another mug and drank deeply from it. "As for you father being an old man before his time, I had spoken with him once about Saruman and his ambitions. He chose not to believe me saying that Rohan was stronger then any wizard alive. Your father in arrogance thought that nothing could harm the people of Rohan. He thought that he could conquer any one who came against him."

Théodred winced inwardly at the news. His father was arrogant, yes, but he had never seemed foolishly so. Théoden as he had been would _never_ have discounted a threat to his people, not unless there had been some darkness already at work in the Golden Hall.

Was it his own arrogance that was discounting Gríma's story? After all, he was here, and not in Edoras tormenting the King further. "Why were you cast out, Gríma? My father trusted you, until he became so addled from your whispered spells that he could no longer think for himself. What have you done that could have awakened him from his stupor? What crime so heinous did you commit that he could no longer condone or explain your actions?" Even as he spoke the words, he knew what it was Gríma had been promised. Yes, he had been one of the Rohirrim; but that had not changed his looks. He was not at all a comely man, and that had been his downfall. He had hungered for one he could not have, and desperation had made him ripe for Saruman's temptations. "Was my cousin your promised price? Éowyn?" The thought made him see red and he cursed the weakness in his limbs.

Gríma sighed and moved away from Théodred's bedside. "Gandalf the Grey came to the hall and helped your father regain his senses. Théoden did not remember any of our conversations about Saruman or that I had sent you to the one I thought could heal your wounds." He ducked his head in sadness his voice a whisper of sound, "And yes for love of your cousin I gladly sold my soul to the darkness. Only even then she would not have me. Nor will I place blame on her shoulders; she will always be the most precious star in my heavens." He spoke that last almost to himself.

Théodred found his heart swelling with hope, only to feel it plunge into despair. If his father had no memory of Gríma's words... Bema, he must be devastated! And there would be no rescue, for Théoden would think him dead. Above all else it galled him that he could not summon the strength to pace. Pacing could be used as both an outlet for his frustration and a way to once more examine the room for a possible escape route.

He gave some thought to Gríma's words. The man had been an excellent Rider, had been totally devoted to Théodred while in the éored. And he had worshiped Éowyn for a long time; it had been no secret that he loved her, and that his love would never be returned. Gríma was not without fault in this; but neither was the blame solely his to bear. Théodred needed more information; he needed to be free! His father would lose heart if he felt Théodred was lost. Rohan would surely fall if his spirit was not bolstered in some fashion. He nearly groaned aloud at the thought.

"Gríma, you _must_ help me," he began, his voice low. "Tell me what you know of my father, and help me get free of this place! Saruman means to destroy the people of Rohan and I would prevent it, or die with them. Help me now."

The door slammed open as the Orcs ushered in the young woman who had been bring food and drink. She cringed away from Gríma and brought the food to the table as the Orcs closed the door behind her not even bothering to lock the door when they left.

"I have brought you food my lord." She kept her face hidden by the mesh of dirty hair. In Rohirrim she spoke softly. "I have ensured that there was nothing placed in the food this time. Although it is poor fare it is what I am given to eat. I am sorry that I failed to check your meal before this." She completely ignored Gríma.

Gríma looked at her puzzled as she seemed familiar to him. "Who is your family child?" His voice was soft.

She ignored him and watched Théodred closely.

Théodred also had been perplexed by the resemblance he couldn't place. Her hair; it was so filthy he couldn't tell what color it was. If he could just see her eyes clearly...

"The food is more than sufficient," he said softly, hoping to set her at ease. "But I insist that you share the meal, since you are giving up your rations. I will have none of my people go without for my sake." He knew she was one of his, by the simple deduction that she was here and obviously against her will. Saruman had long hated the people of Rohan, though he had not dared to be so open about it before now. He and Hama had often shared their criticism of the wizard, out of Théoden's earshot, of course.

Hama. Recognition burst on him suddenly. "You have the look of your father," he said softly. "Your name is Halla, is that right?"

Gríma started and shook his head in horror. "By Bema, no! It is not possible. I suggested that Hama send his wife and younger children to somewhere safe. When I heard he had sent them to the Westfold I despaired that he had sent them to their deaths." He drank deeply from his mug.

Théodred snarled from his imprisoning body. "The Westfold? What do you know of the Westfold, Worm?" he spat. He wished he had the full use of his hands, though strength was slowly returning. "Halla, what has happened that you are here? Tell me everything." He glared at Gríma. "And you will tell me why you asked Hama to send his family away from Edoras."

His mind was working furiously. The one true defensible position in Rohan was the Fortress at Helm's Deep. If Hama was concerned for his family, why not send them there? It made no sense.

Gríma sighed and motioned that he should rest against the pillows and eat what she had brought him. "I had some knowledge of what Saruman was going to let loose on Rohan. But only enough to try and save as many as I could. I knew that he was planning to attack the Westfold with an army of Wildmen. I ordered as many as I thought I could get away with to move to the Deep. But then I found out from Hama that he had sent his wife there because her sister was married to a man of the Westfold."

Halla snorted, "You are nothing but slime. You betrayed your oath to Rohan for the promise of a woman. One who would probably kill herself before she'd let you touch her," she spat at Gríma, her eyes blazing with fury and pain. "My mother died protecting my little brother and sister. Then only reason I'm not dead is…" She paled and trailed off as she remembered the pain of what the Wildmen did with her after the found her. She shook as she suddenly felt the need to sit.

Théodred picked at the food on the plate as his mind raced through the possibilities once more. Halla would come with him when he escaped, that much was painfully clear. He would leave no one to Saruman's tender mercies, not even Gríma. Unless Gríma refused the salvation he offered.

He ate less than half, noticing again that his strength was returning, though the process was slower than he would have liked. Then he shook his head and forced his mind to business. More strength meant a greater chance of escape, if he was lucky. "Halla, what he did was misguided, but necessary to his mind. Love has a way of making men do foolish things." The words almost choked him. He could not yet credit that Gríma loved Éowyn so deeply he would betray everything he held dear for her, and yet he could not completely discount it, either. "That you have survived speaks of your strength. I ask you now; use that strength to aid me."

Cautiously he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and then stood up and began searching the walls. Wait... when Halla had come in, the door had not been relocked. The poker was the only weapon he could call to hand; but an enraged Rohirrim armed with _anything_ was a force to be reckoned with. He could feel the battle heat rising inside him again and welcomed it. "Gríma, if you would right your wrongs, then help me now. Are there any weapons to be had? I would not leave either of you here in any case but we would fare better if all were armed."

Gríma watched him, "Théodred, escape is not an option at the moment. You would only get so far before being recaptured. They eat horses here." He shuddered at the thought of good horses being used in such a manner.

Halla's eyes blazed then. "I will do what I can my lord." She smiled as she pulled a wickedly long butcher's knife from beneath her kilt. "I've been keeping this on me incase another Wildman decides I'm fair game."

"They eat Men, too, Gríma." Théodred had no intention of remaining within the confines of Isengard any longer than necessary. "Théoden-king will need us." He reached out and grasped the other man's shoulder, offering support. "We _must_ escape, and quickly. Have I your word that if you will not help us, you at least will not hinder us? You _are_ coming with me, Gríma. I would leave _no one_ in this festering place of darkness."

"Festering place of darkness?" The silky smooth words caressed everyone in the room. Saruman moved away from the door, leaning lightly on his staff. "I believe that you have decided that you do not like my hospitality, Prince Théodred. Here I try to comfort my neighbor's son in his time of need, and all I receive in return are his insults. That is a pity."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to JRR Tolkien. I am merely borrowing his toys for a while, and promise to put them back when I'm finished.**

**Dedications: To Evendim, who gave me my start in this fandom and has graciously supplied me with permission to play in her playground any time I like. Thanks, sweetie… it means a great deal to me. To Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and the occasional kick in the pants I need to keep writing. And last, but not least, to AJ, who is helping me write this one which started so innocently with a game of "What if…" **

**Author's Note: This story is set in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE of my own creation. That means that some facts, faces, and features found in canon might not exactly fit. All constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms; flames will be read, laughed over, and then tossed out the window for Dogzilla to eat.**

**Author's Note #2: This was just supposed to be an innocent little way to pass the time… AJ and I were playing "What if" games and came up with the idea that perhaps Théodred hadn't been killed at the Fords of Isen. It quickly spiraled from there, grabbed a couple more innocent-looking little bunnies, and guess what? We're off and running on another story! I beg your indulgence; all works in progress are intended to be updated and completed as time allows. This is mostly movie-verse, though there will be a few elements of book-verse involved later. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

Théodred gave Saruman a contemptuous glare, his fingers gripping the poker with a bit more force than necessary. "Hospitality, is it?" he snarled. "And was it kindness that sent the Wild Men to murder and pillage the Westfold?" He barely caught himself from spitting on the wizard. "If that is kindness, Saruman, then perhaps all I have learned in my youth was false and Sauron is indeed the kindest of all." He held the wizard's gaze, his rage pulsing within him. "Gríma. Be free of him. Help me now."

Gríma shuddered and looked as if he was going to join Théodred. He stopped, breathing hard, as he fought to join his prince. He closed his eyes as he agonized over what his heart was telling him.

"Gríma, you know that you can never go back." Saruman's voice was soft. "Théoden would kill you if he saw you again, without hesitation. Is that not what he said before he allowed you to flee?"

Halla edged closer to Théodred and made a motion to hand him her knife. "Here my prince, this is more a warrior's weapon then that poker." She glared at Saruman.

Théodred took the knife from her and gave it a sweep before him, watching Gríma closely. He could see the struggle in the man's mind. "Gríma, if it is death you fear, you need not," he said gently. "I will allow no harm to come to you, my word on it as your Marshall, as your Prince. You know I do not give that oath lightly." _Help me,_ he pleaded silently. _Come back to who you are._

Gríma bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed before nodding to himself. He shut out Saruman's words and went to stand beside his prince. "If I die at least at the last I did the right thing for my people." He pulled out his own dagger and turned, prepared to fight through the Orcs to give Théodred a chance to escape.

Saruman snorted delicately and shook his head. "You are a fool, Wormtongue. You have ever had a weak will. Do not expect me to give you what was promised." He gestured to the Orcs. "Take the prince to his new chambers. As for Wormtongue and the girl 40 lashes each should teach them a lesson they won't soon forget."

Théodred lashed out with his knife, bloodying the first Orc that came near. "You'll not take me, not without a fight!" he roared as he moved forward, his blade slicing quickly out, marking more of the Orcs. "Halla, Gríma, the door! Quickly!" He moved to protect them, keeping himself between them and the wizard. He would protect them with his life; he had given his oath. "Run!"

Gríma snorted and shook his head. "I will not leave you with him my lord." And thrust at one of the other Orcs.

Saruman sighed and used his voice, the one weapon that could truly subdue a man without physical violence. "ENOUGH! Théodred, your arms are too weak to hold that knife, and you don't really want to fight do you? You are far more exhausted than you will admit."

Halla lunged at Saruman only to be backhanded into the foot board of the bed. She gasped as she felt her body go numb.

Théodred snarled as the words began to work their magic; he had not been prepared for it. The knife dropped from suddenly weak fingers. He used all of his remaining strength to voice his own commands. "Gríma! Take Halla and go! Do what you can! Run!" He fell back, gasping for breath. The wizard's voice was a terrible weapon; he could make one feel whatever he chose with it, whether weakness or some other trait.

Gríma growled to himself and picked up the limp girl. He turned and started to fight his way out to the door when he felt pain sear into his back where an Orc had gotten through with a dagger slash.

Saruman snorted and set his staff down on the floor with a thunderous explosion sending all except himself and the Orcs to the ground. "Now take him to the dungeon. Make him understand his place in the world," he told the lead Orc as he moved over to Gríma's side. He kneeled down to look him the eyes. "I will be kind to you this once, Gríma, as you have shown me loyalty in the past. But I will still need to have you disciplined. Once you have learned you can even have the girl as you play thing if you so choose."

Théodred could have wept. How could he have failed? He was a Prince of Rohan! He was one of the Rohirrim! How could he have failed so completely to protect them? It wasn't to be borne! He struggled to rise, but the task was beyond him. His injuries, coupled with the damage from Saruman's attack, simply wouldn't permit it.

He felt the Orcs pick him up and railed at them furiously, using the only weapon he had left to him. It made no difference. He was taken to the dungeons.

Gríma glared at Saruman. "You think you do me kindness, but you are mistaken," he spat. "The kindness was in my Prince's forgiveness. I made my choice when I came here, to serve you as my King had been most displeased with me. Perhaps it is where I belong." His face took on a haunted cast. "But I swear to you now, my service to you is at an end. My Prince has given me his forgiveness for my treachery and I will not abuse it. You will gain no more information from me."

Saruman shook his head and caressed Gríma's cheek. "Ah Gríma, you disappointment me. I should have killed you when you returned to me. But you are just a puppet, not worth even the time it would take to kill you." He motioned the few Orcs that were left forward. "Ensure that he and the girl are properly chastised."

Halla groaned as she felt the Orcs begin to pull her away from Gríma. She tried to hold onto his arm even though she was still numb from her earlier fall. "N-no.." Her voice was soft and filled with fear.

Théodred was still cursing as the strength returned to him, though it was a useless effort. He was manacled securely at both hand and foot; there was no escape. He forced himself to still his tongue and worked to harness his rage, to turn it to his advantage. Saruman would have many questions for him, he was certain, and he wished to answer none of them.

Saruman motioned that they should turn Théodred around so that he could see the nearby whipping posts. "Since you continue to be defiant I have decided that you will see what your defiance will bring to others. Choose which of your people that you would like saved from 40 lashes."

Halla kicked at the Orc that was placing her chains to the top of the post leaving her feet to just barely touch the ground.

"Then I choose neither," Théodred stated quickly. "I would take their torment upon myself, as it was I who earned it for them. What say you to that, Istari?"

Gríma gave a choked cry. "No, my lord! I have made my own choices, for good or ill. I would take my share."

Saruman looked from one man to another and then nodded to himself. "So both brave men would take the pains yet the woman says nothing. I think perhaps she should bare all your lashes, as you both have yet to show respect for your host." He motioned for the Orc to begin whipping Halla.

Halla bit her lip hard and tried desperately to ignore the pain reminding herself that she had received far worse at the hands of the Wildmen. She whimpered as the lash licked her back with fire.

"Saruman!" Theodred's voice crackled with fury. "Leave off! Your quarrel is with me, not her! She deserves no part of this!"

Grima bit back a sob at the cries torn from Halla's throat.

Saruman turned to look at Theodred his smile warm. "Ah but she has been defiant as well. She has earned these lashes. If you would give me your word that you will not attempt to escape then I will not punish her for your obstinate

behavior."

Halla panted as the lash paused in the air waiting for Theodred's response. She realized that this pain was worse only in that her pain was hurting them. She kept silent as much as she was able; but the stinging pain was worse with every lash and she finally had to cry out against it.

Theodred closed his eyes at the agony of her cries. He could not, could not make such a promise. His duty was to all his people, not to only one of them. A harsh decision; and it tore at him to make it. "I will not make such a vow, wizard," he spat, and the words were ashes in his mouth. "I cannot."

Grima turned shocked, horrified eyes on his Prince. "He will kill her!"

Theodred could not answer. He caught her gaze with his own, silently begging her forgiveness for what he knew must happen. He could not, could not bend to the wizard's will, or all was lost.

Halla saw him looking at her and nodded. She bowed her head as she felt a sudden calm fill her. She looked up and smiled at him her eyes clear and calm as she whispered "Thank You," to him.

Saruman shrugged and nodded to orc to finish her. "As you wish, Theodred. I will remember to send her head as a gift to her father."

Theodred held Halla's gaze, vowing to himself to tell her father how brave she had been, how so very much a Shieldmaiden born she had become. He held his silence.

Grima screamed as he saw the orc's sword arc down on Halla's bare neck. "Theodred! You bastard! You promised to protect her! She supported you and you let her die!" He yanked hard on his manacles trying to break free and pay Theodred back for his lies.

Saruman sighed and blocked Grima's view of Theodred. "See, Grima, he cares only for his own life. I forgive you for being wooed by his words. He is a very persuasive man." He looked kindly down at Grima.

Theodred saw red. "Whatever it takes, Saruman, I will destroy you for this!" he raged. "Grima! If you care nothing for me, think of your people! The wizard will destroy them, all of them, down to the last child. Do not help him in that

purpose!" He forced himself to calm. "Grima, I swear to you, I did not lie. Would you have her remain here as a plaything of Wildmen and worse? I cannot, will not, give in to even ONE of his demands. It would be a betrayal of all I hold dear. Halla understood my reasons. I am asking you to consider them and try to understand, also."

Grima closed his eyes in pain silently wept for brave young woman. "Yes, Saruman, he is almost as persuasive as you. Although you have something in your favor that he does not. You have not promised something that you could not deliver. I will serve you if you will still have me." He opened his eyes the hopelessness he felt reflected in his eyes.

Saruman unlocked Grima's manacles and put a hand on his shoulder. "I am always willing to overlook the foolishness of the young. Go rest while I deal with Theodred." Saruman turned so that his back was to Grima.

"My Lord, I would prefer if you would allow me to assist you in teaching him his place here." Grima bowed his head in subservience waiting for a chance to revenge the girl's death on Theodred's tender flesh.

"In due time, Grima, in due time," Saruman purred. "There are more important things at this moment. Tell me everything you know of Rohan's defenses."


End file.
